Sweet Misery
by rizlow
Summary: My entry for Bev's Song Challenge on Tumblr. My song prompt was Cryin' by Aerosmith, lyrics below if you want to read to see where my inspiration came from. One shot, Dean x OC.


_Cryin' - Aerosmith_

 _There was a time  
When I was so broken hearted  
Love wasn't much of a friend of mine  
The tables have turned, yeah  
'Cause me and them ways have parted  
That kind of love was the killin' kind  
Now listen  
All I want is someone I can't resist  
I know all I need to know by the way that I got kissed_

 _I was cryin' when I met you  
Now I'm tryin' to forget you  
Love is sweet misery  
I was cryin' just to get you  
Now I'm dyin' cause I let you  
Do what you do - down on me_

 _Now there's not even breathin' room  
Between pleasure and pain  
Yeah you cry when we're makin' love  
Must be one and the same_

 _It's down on me  
Yeah I got to tell you one thing  
It's been on my mind  
Girl I gotta say  
We're partners in crime  
You got that certain something  
What you give to me  
Takes my breath away  
Now the word out on the street  
Is the devil's in your kiss  
If our love goes up in flames  
It's a fire I can't resist_

 _I was cryin' when I met you  
Now I'm tryin' to forget you  
Your love is sweet misery  
I was cryin' just to get you  
Now I'm dyin' cause I let you  
Do what you do to me_

 _'Cause what you got inside  
Ain't where your love should stay  
Yeah, our love, sweet love, ain't love  
If you give your heart away  
_

* * *

It was time.

He always came to this point, even after he swore to himself he wouldn't go back, wouldn't keep her hanging on just when she started to let go. He knew it wasn't fair, wasn't right to keep going back. He knew that she knew – she always knew – that he couldn't stay. He couldn't, would never be able to, give her what she truly deserved. But he was weak, he knew that, he admitted it to himself freely. He just _needed_ her _._

His world was all hard surfaces, sharp edges, rough textures, coarse and dirty and ugly. She was the antithesis to the harshness of his reality, the balm that soothed it. Her voice calmed him. Her skin, her body, was so soft and smooth, pliable under his calloused hands. The scent of her, even if she wasn't wearing that light, musky perfume he loved, washed through him like a cleansing breeze, eradicating for a time the smell of blood and death. He craved her, the silken waterfall of her hair between his fingers, falling around them like a curtain when she leaned over him to kiss his lips, trailing over his skin as she moved down his body, and just the sensation of it brushing over him as the warm, gentle heat of her mouth surrounded him was sometimes almost enough to set him off.

Sometimes after a fucked-up hunt, or after they lost one of the people they were supposed to be saving, or after they got into some epic mess that it looked like they'd never get out of, all he could think of was her. She put the torn edges of his soul back together, healed his ravaged mind enough that he could go on with the never-ending fight, move on to the latest evil on the horizon.

She went to work, came home, bought groceries, cleaned the house, did the laundry. She existed day to day, doing all the things she was supposed to do. And then, when he called, when he knocked on her door, she _lived_. When he was with her – then she could really feel. When he was with her, there was color and light and vibrant _life_.

She would never forget the first time she saw Dean…

She wasn't the kind of person who sat at the bar, desperately hoping to find the right guy. She was more the type to sit at home, head in a book, dreaming of the right guy stumbling upon her, taking her breath away, saving her from the everyday droning rhythm of her life. She had finally gotten free of a bad – not horrible, but not happy – marriage, and after months of arguments, tears, hurting and being hurt, she was feeling the need to drink a toast to herself. It took a few years of just settling, telling herself that was her life, it just wasn't ever going to be the happy ending she longed for. When she finally decided that wasn't good enough, that she deserved more than being taken for granted like a piece of furniture or a friendly pet, the drama of his crushed ego and inertia began. After two years, he was finally gone along with all of his belongings, the house sold, and she was settled, relatively, into her new place.

She was sitting at the bar, mentally raising her glass of wine in salute to herself when he walked in, six-foot-something with a bowlegged, confident stride, wearing denim, work boots and a leather jacket, and she could feel the life vibrating off of him from across the room. She set her glass back down, a little too hard, sloshing wine over her hand, and it was at the exact moment that she was sucking a drop from the side of her finger that she looked up and their eyes met. The breath froze in her lungs for a moment, his eyes narrowing a little just before his perfect lips curved in a slow, one-sided smile. Next thing she knew, he was approaching, his startling green eyes taking her in appreciatively as the warmth of his voice washed over her. "Hey, I'm Dean. Wanna get a table?"

And that was the night she really started living. God, he was just so – she couldn't even pin down a word in her mind as he talked, feeling as if her grey, colorless, silent world had just become vibrant, bright, alive - and she was hungry for it.

They were there until closing time, talking and laughing, drinking until she felt pleasantly fuzzy around the edges and comfortable, and she didn't think twice about inviting him back to her place. The night was pleasant and they walked, still talking and laughing, and when she stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk, he grabbed her hand to steady her and never let go. She unlocked the door, letting him in and then closing it behind them, leaning against it, and he moved closer, his hand touching her face, his fingers in her hair as his thumb stroked over her cheek, his eyes questioning. She closed the distance between them, a little off-balance, almost crashing into his lips, and they giggled a little at their clumsiness. Then he took her breath away with a gentle kiss that left her more dizzy than the wine, her hands pushing his jacket from his shoulders as she pressed herself against him.

She would never forget the _intensity_ of that first time with him. The way his eyes drank her in as he undressed her slowly, his focus on her so unwavering that it almost made her want to shy away, cover herself. They left pieces of clothing in a trail all the way to her bedroom, and he flipped the covers almost off the bed as he guided her to lie down, lowering himself over her as he began his exploration of her body with his lips and tongue and fingertips. She ran her hands down over the broad expanse of his shoulders, then back up, letting her fingers play in the soft, short hairs at his nape, arching up to meet him as his lips nibbled at her nipple, then sucked it into the heat of his mouth, making her gasp softly. He stayed there, moving from one breast to the other, until she could barely breathe, trembling with a need so intense that when he finally dipped his fingers down between her thighs, she cried out so loudly that she flushed with embarrassment. And that's when he raised his head, his eyes shining, his teeth clamping down on his lower lip for a moment before he spoke. "Tell me what you need, baby," he said, breathing hard, his voice raspy and low.

"God, Dean…" she managed in a shaky whisper, "please… just touch me." He leaned in to kiss her, quick and needy, then stared down at her again, his eyes dark with hunger.

"Can I taste you?" She whimpered at that, then nodded once, and he moved quickly, stationing himself between her thighs, looking up at her once through those long, lush eyelashes before lowering his head and letting his tongue sweep over her. Her control gone, she grasped at his hair, and he groaned loudly as he slipped two fingers inside, then tongued over her clit before sucking it in between his lips. And that was all it took, sending her into a mindless chasm of pleasure, trembling, breathless as he worked her through it and back up the rise, balancing precariously at the edge of another intense orgasm.

She laid there, shaking, as he moved back up her body and then stopped, concern furrowing his brow as he encountered the tears on her face. "Are you alright? Did I…"

"No," she stopped him. "No, you didn't hurt me. It was just so…" He cut her off then, kissing her hard, his erection prodding at her entrance, and she bucked up beneath him, taking him in almost fully. He nipped at her lip, then plunged his tongue in as he drew back and drove himself into her hard, losing himself completely. She came undone again then, her body fluttering and clutching at him, spurring him on. When he finally came, his head burrowed into her neck as he quaked with the violence of it, collapsing a little to the side, she let her arms drop, moaning softly as he let out one last shudder.

She'd been addicted to him ever since. No matter how many times she promised herself that it was the last time, when he called or showed up on her doorstep, looking like he carried the weight of the world on those broad shoulders, she was his. No questions asked, no demands made, no hesitation. She lived in those moments, and existed in between them, waiting for the next time.

He dragged himself, exhausted in body and spirit, up the few steps to her front door, still hesitating, still trying to make himself turn around and leave. He couldn't keep doing this to her. But he couldn't keep on without her.

With a quiet sigh, he shoved the guilt down far enough to reach for the doorbell. When it swung inward and he met her eyes, filled with welcoming warmth, he allowed himself a small smile. "Hi, baby." She reached out a hand, and he took hold, letting her pull him into the light.

"Dean. It's good to see you." And when she stood on tiptoe to kiss him, he closed his eyes and breathed her in, her acceptance, her love, closing the door behind him.


End file.
